Well, the guests are gone, my husband is asleep and the dog is still cleaning up where we left off! This blog isn’t so much about my impression of the real estate market, mortgage rates or some other clever blog I’ve posted when I didn’t have time to write my own or theirs was just better than mine on that particular day…no this blog is about what home means to me.
Home has so many meanings to people however today my heart goes out to those who don’t have a home to call their own. For the past number of years, the first of October I started to reserve my family’s space to volunteer to prepare food for the homeless; Pine Street Inn was a favorite. Growing up outside of New York City, we always had a crowd however I would always ask my mother where the people ate who lived on the streets in New York. She didn’t know or said maybe someone nice would give them some money. It always troubled me that there were people out there in the cold and not sitting with us when were warm and cozy.
The first time my brother and I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving was because our parents had retired to Florida and we were both in college in Boston… we ate in a restaurant. It was a strange experience since my house growing up was always filled to the brim with family. The first thing we noticed were most people were sitting alone for their meal and we found it oddly strange and sad. We promised each other we would never allow that to happen to each other and we have had Thanksgiving together with our respective families since. Yeah, I know all this sounds like a nice story however I have found that so many don’t know or care enough to look past their own nose to see how much others do not have at this time of year or anytime of year for that matter.
When my son was 15 years old and on through high school, he worked with a group who farmed the land for sustainable agriculture to feed the hungry. Although my son never went hungry, he never took for granted what he had or that he was able to have a hot meal on a daily basis. We volunteered to feed the hungry from the time he was small and he had no problem taking his then $5 allowance to give to a homeless man on the street for food. More recently, his favorite was the guy with his dog. My son was working downtown Boston on his summer valet job…he brought the dog a biscuit every morning and gave the man a few dollars for food. When he left the job to go back to school, the homeless man brought my son a cup of coffee and a donut. His eyes filled up when he told me the story that his kindness was recognized. My son did it out of the kindness of his heart for another human being down on his luck. That is what Thanksgiving is all about…not just in November…everyday.
The reason I am writing this is two fold. I never know who reads my blogs but I do know I am grateful that you do. Not everyone has a home, not everyone has a safe home to go to and yet to some who have a cardboard box humbly covering their body that they call home, it is theirs. Home means something different to everyone and it takes so very little to share a kindness, open one’s heart to other’s who may have very little monetarily but are rich in spirit and to give of yourself and your time.
I am deeply thankful to be able to serve the public to help those looking find their new home. It is an honor to be trusted with private information, be given respect for my knowledge and experience. We are always learning and it is a good day when we learn something new. I wish you well and it may sound corny and a bit of a cliché…Home IS where the heart is! Happy Thanksgiving!
With great appreciation,
Laura